


feigning existence

by jingyeoms



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Forbidden Love, M/M, Prostitution, Sexual Tension, Stockholm Syndrome, human trafficking is a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 13:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10219589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jingyeoms/pseuds/jingyeoms
Summary: prompt: crime au, yugbam. in which bambam is a victim of human trafficking and yugyeom is tasked to keep an eye on him. lots of love, angst, and sexual tension.





	

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from 7fics!

**Bangkok, Thailand. Year 2017.**

 

It happened in a split second. One moment Bambam was walking home from his night classes in school and the next he was struggling to wake up in the back of a car with his hands tied up in his lap.

 

“Oh, you’re awake, pretty boy?”

 

Bambam kept his mouth shut - one reason being he was too afraid to speak. He looked down at his tied hands, too afraid to struggle and too afraid to escape.  _ Would they kill him if he did? _

 

The car came to a halt and he was pulled out of the car harshly, stumbling over his own feet before he could regain his balance. The streets in front of him sent a bubbling feeling down his throat, both an eeriness and a sense of warmth emitting from it. The moon was high and bright, and with his senses returning back to normal, he understood what situation he was in. 

 

He was a victim of human trafficking. The red lights and men and women dressed in skimpy clothing gave it all away.  _ That’s probably going to be him _ . There was no use in making a run for it - the men that had taken to him were leaving bruises in his arms and the red light district was far from central Bangkok. 

 

He hated being manhandled, the tugged him and tore him and stuck him in uncomfortable clothing, fixed his physical appearance to look  _ more  _ appealing. 

 

He was given a room to stay in, no windows and only a door where one of the men stand to make sure he doesn't make an attempt to escape. He and the man never exchanged words - he was simply there to keep an eye on Bambam and nothing more.

 

The first time Bambam was brought out to stand in the district, he shook with fear. A tall, muscular man requested him for the night, and he couldn't do anything but accept. The man brought in a couple thousand for the men running the district.

 

As soon as his client left, Bambam returned to his room in the basement of the brothel they were letting him stay in. He’d forgotten about the man who stood inside his room, crawling into bed and crying himself to sleep.

 

His body was tattered - the man was rather harsh and every inch of his body felt violated, but there wasn't much he could do. If he resisted he’d get more abused, if he didn't bring in money the brothel owners were likely to have their way with him.  _ This was his life now, and there was no way back _ . 

 

Bambam cried himself to sleep for several nights after, not noticing the way the guard twitched whenever he heard a sob - he was the only man in the brothel that hadn't touched him yet.  _ And it was safe to say he was a little bit grateful _ . 

 

“Do you talk?” Bambam mumbled one night after shedding a few tears, cheek still dug into his pillow.

 

“It’s not my job to talk.” His Thai was broken, like most of the workers in the brothel, but it was clear enough for the boy to understand him.

 

“Do you like working here?” Bambam let out a bitter chuckle. “Your job sounds far better than mine.” 

 

“I don’t.” His voice was firm - perhaps he was keeping his composure, if he were to act anyway out of line, was it possible he’d be in trouble? 

 

“Why not? So many  _ pretty boys and pretty girls _ for you to play with, for you to have your way with. Isn’t it heaven?” Bambam sat up, barely able to make out the guard in the dark. 

 

“It’s not.” 

 

Bambam scoffed and laid back down. “Fine, don’t talk. I’ll shut up.” 

 

One afternoon, hours before Bambam had to be back outside to sell himself again, the guard brought him his lunch before returning back to his position.

 

“Why did you cry?”

 

Bambam set down his utensils and looked up at the guard. It was the first time he’d really looked at him - he was tall in demeanor, pouty pink lips and a mole under his left eye. He looked young.  _ Why was he working in such a place if he was so young? _ He purses his lips. 

 

“Before my first client, I was a virgin.” He swallowed thickly, looking down at his nearly empty plate. “Growing up I always dreamt of losing my virginity to someone I loved. Not a monster who left scratches and bruises on my skin and called me a  _ bitch, a dirty slut _ , and names that ring so loud in my head that it hurts.” 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It's fine. It's not like you can do anything about it. Have you really not slept with any of the people here?”

 

He shook his head. “I never even thought about it.” 

 

“You seem like a good guy.” Bambam shoved a spoonful of food into his mouth, sighing. “You must be the only good guy here.” 

 

“I suppose you're not wrong there.”

 

“Stay that way.” 

 

Bambam cleaned his plate free of any scraps, neatly setting his utensils down before retiring to his bed. The guard stood firm, waiting until Bambam was a safe distance before picking up the plate. 

 

“What’s your name?” Bambam asked as he watched the guard twist the handle of the door.

 

“Yugyeom. Call me Yugyeom.” 

 

Bambam delved himself underneath his blankets, hoping none of the brothel owners would come in asking him to take a shift. Behind his eyes was the tall, kind guard with a soft demeanor - maybe everyone in the world wasn't as evil as he’d thought. 

 

Over time the two of them shared small talk, usually it would be before Bambam was sent out to the brothel, because when he came back he never wanted to talk, and Yugyeom understood. 

 

Every night Yugyeom followed Bambam to the brothel, as by order from the owners, and it hurt his heart to witness the sad look on Bambam’s face every time a new client asked for  _ that pretty boy over there, with the pretty lips _ . 

 

Yugyeom’s job was to wait until they were done to escort Bambam back to his room, that is, if no one else requested him or they were substituting him. That particular night, when the client left, Bambam didn’t follow after him and present himself once again, instead he stayed inside, where Yugyeom found him weeping. 

 

He attempted to pull him by the arm, but Bambam flinched, insisting he went on his own, that he was okay, when he wasn’t. But who ever cared that Bambam was traumatized? He still got sent out, still cried, he still got manhandled and tossed around, even when he couldn't take it anymore. The brothel owners only ever cared about their money. 

 

Bambam called over Yugyeom to come sit next to him on his bed, there were tears rolling down his face as he kissed the taller boy needily, desperation and want in his actions. Yugyeom held him so delicately, as if he would break if he did any more than the slight brush of skin on skin. 

 

“Yugyeom.” Bambam’s voice broke as did their kiss, “you wouldn't hurt me, would you?”

 

“Never.” 

 

The Thai pulled him by the collar and crashed their lips together, the salty taste of his tears mixing with their saliva. “I need you.”

 

“Are you sure? I…”

 

“I want to feel okay for once. I trust you to make me feel okay.” 

 

Bambam woke up the next morning and Yugyeom wasn't there to warm him up, his heart falling into the pit of his stomach. 

 

His door opened slowly, and in came Yugyeom with a tray of food for breakfast, setting it down at the small table before retreating to to the door. 

 

Before Yugyeom could walk away, Bambam pulled him close for a kiss, and instead of needy and lustful, it was languid and loving, similar to the kisses they’d shared before they both fell asleep. 

 

“We can’t.” Yugyeom simply said, pursing his lips and retreating back to the door. 

 

Bambam didn't say a word and stared at his food with an empty gaze, shoving a spoonful into his mouth every so often when he felt Yugyeom’s eyes on him.

 

And they went nights like that. Yugyeom staring at the other longingly, the same from Bambam, especially after every time he returned from serving a client, there was sadness and hurt in his eyes, his nose, his lips. It was always there. 

 

Bambam laid, staring at the ceiling knowing well that Yugyeom was standing there, unwavering like he’d been in the beginning. 

 

“They want to send me out to meet a client. Just when I thought it couldn't get any scarier.” 

 

“Can't you reject it?” Yugyeom mumbled.

 

“When was the choice ever mine to make?” 

 

So the next evening, Yugyeom escorted Bambam out of the brothel for the first time in what felt like years to the smaller. Yugyeom led him carefully, never laid a hand on him unless it was to guide him slightly - the feeling of being manhandled when he was being shoved into the car felt similar to when he got there.

 

The man was unattractive, his drink tasted funny, and he didn't remember anything after that. He woke up to bruises all over his body, an ache in his back and fear clouding his mind. 

 

He had to leave, somehow. They said the client promised to have him back before two a.m, but the sun already risen, and the man held him firmly in his grasp.

 

“So you're awake, pretty boy? I’m not done with you yet.”

 

Bambam’s body shook with fear, twisting his body away from the man as best as he could, but the displeased look on the man’s face and the fear that he’d hurt him put him to a halt.

 

“Dirty little slut, trying to get away from me? I’m paying for you, bitch, want my money’s worth.” 

 

He swallowed his words, looking anywhere but the man’s eyes.  _ It was never this bad. It was always tolerable, it was never this bad. Why did it have to get this bad? _

 

The man’s fingernails dug into his side, but Bambam just gritted his teeth and beared the pain, a hotness welling up behind his eyes. 

 

A knock resounded from the door, and the man grumbled, “don’t move, whore.” 

 

He stayed in the bed as the man approached the hotel door. He opened it and immediately was ambushed. The sound of a taser rumbled the air, the client falling to the ground immediately after. 

 

Yugyeom stepped into the room, wrapping a blanket around his naked body before dragging him out of the room without a word. “Thank you.” 

 

Bambam sat in the passenger seat of some car, Yugyeom at the wheel and driving far away. He watched the taller for a few moments before he began to cry. Everything became blurry and hazy, there was a dull ache in his body from all the pain he’d endured - he didn't even know how long he’d been a part of the brothel. 

 

They ended up in the parking lot of the international airport, and Yugyeom came to the passenger side with clean clothing, dressing him carefully and delicately as if he’d break. 

 

“We’re getting out of here.” Yugyeom finally breathed out. “I can't stand to see you get hurt any longer. We’re going somewhere safer. I destroyed all the records they had of you and any possible way for them to track you.” 

 

The Thai nodded weakly, hands in his lap. “Thank you.”

 

“I’m sorry I took so long.” 

 

He shook his head. “It's fine. You found me. You saved me. It's fine. I’m fine.” Bambam leaned down to Yugyeom who was squatting outside of the car, kissing him softly and slowly once more. 

  
“Everything’s gonna be okay.” 


End file.
